What do PDAs, Little Red Bugs, and R’ Shlomo Zalman Auerbach Have In Common?

They can all be found in Central Park at the same time.

This afternoon, I fled the madness of Stern in finals season (see below, if you haven’t yet) to my favorite NY haven…Central Park. I love Central Park. I could write hundreds of posts about Central Park. There will probably be future posts about Central Park. But tonight I have a hard final that I haven’t studied for yet (again, see below) and therefore I will limit my words.

I went there today with three of my close friends, ostensibly to study in the park, though of course I knew better. We plunked ourselves down on the sun-dappled grass under the shade of a large tree and took out our notebooks. The grass was patchy, and we hadn’t brought a sheet, and thus I was shortly covered in dirt, weird plant thingies, and teeny tiny little bright red bugs that crawled across my notes uninvited. I tried not to think about where else they might be crawling.

After finding an attempt to read my notes unsuccessful (surprise!), I couldn’t resist lying down on my back and staring up at the sunlight streaming through the spring green leaves and branches of the tree high above me. The beauty of that spectacle was literally breathtaking. I gazed into the vast canopy above me, and felt the hard earth under my head. Now let me tell you, I am certainly no hippie-nature-girl, but at that moment, I communed with nature. It was actually stunning. I could have stayed like that for hours.

But I didn’t, because I felt that I should try to study again. So I did. And naturally, several minutes later, I found myself asleep. Not a deep sleep, but a lovely, breezy, summery doze. Asleep enough to be comfortable, but not too asleep not to notice and awaken with a start when I overheard my friends mention food. The food concerned turned out not to be of interest to me, so instead I took out the gummy worms I happened to be conveniently carrying in my bag and distributed them among the masses (a.k.a. my homies). I try not to go anywhere without sugar. Best to be prepared.

Then I tried to study again. My friends and I, however, were shortly distracted once more by a couple a few yards down the slope on which we camped. This couple was horizontal, and they were engaged in, well, let’s just say…they weren’t quite shomer negiah. My friends and I did our best to ignore them, but 10, 15, 30 minutes later, when they were still similarly employed, it started to grate on our sensitivities, and we couldn’t help but brainstorm imaginative ways to remedy the situation. We could walk up to them and say, “Hope we’re not interrupting anything…but would you mind taking a picture for us?” Or walk by and discreetly cough, “Get a room! Ahem! Get a room!” Or surround them in a ring and sing the shomer negiah song. This last option was shortly ruled out, however, because of kol isha issues.

Eventually, we realized that it was getting late, and if we didn’t leave soon we’d miss the mad rush to dinner at the caf and be left utterly foodless, as we were two nights ago. Stern really needs to learn how to order food during finals. Having hundreds of burned-out-from-studying-Jewish-girls, who stagger into the caf hoping for sustenance to get them through another loooong night of memorizing obscure information, to find that the only remaining food is a few semi-stale bagels and low-fat kugels…well, let’s just say, I feared for my life. I’ve never seen so many people in such a collective bad mood. But I digress…

We picked up camp and walked through the park in the direction of the subway station. Those who have been to Central Park will know that lining the main walkway of the park lurk myriad caricature and portrait artists seeking customers. As testaments to their skills, they display samples of their work, depictions of celebrities of all sorts. (Never mind that they probably spent hours doing those, while the one they will draw of you will take 15 minutes, and therefore will not look remotely like the samples, nor in all likelihood, remotely like you. Trust me, I know from experience.)

As we walked, I was expressing, for the thousand and seventh time my desire to purchase ice cream from the ice cream trucks (I’m a sucker for ice cream, especially the chocolate kind, and especially from trucks), when an unexpected sight caught our collective eyes. There, staring back at us from an easel, was the face of Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach, in color! A middle aged Asian man sat, intently using pastels to copy a picture of R’ Auerbach clipped to the easel. There was no way we were going to just walk on by, so we stopped to chat. We told him we that we really liked his picture. The man’s English was less than perfect, so we didn’t understand everything he said in response, but we think he told us that he’d been commissioned to do the portrait by someone. Then he asked us if we were from Brooklyn. That was funny. We said no. We asked if he knew the Rabbi’s name, and he said no, and offered us the picture to caption. My friend wrote “Rabbi Auerbach” beneath it. We snapped the artist’s picture, and went on our merry way, marveling at the things one finds in good old NYC.

We had a jolly walk back to the subway station, and I played my favorite game: the Notice Everything Game. As a writer, and a lover of life, this game is important to my very existence. Noticing the funny, touching, quirky, and beautiful things that I pass enhances my appreciation of life, and my ability to describe. One thing we noticed was an “interesting” window display, pictured below.

We sardined ourselves onto the packed subway and finally arrived at our destination—in time, you will be glad to hear, for me to procure a piece of slimy chicken, some mediocre french fries, and a cup of utterly flat cherry coke. Gotta love caf food. Anyway, that was my afternoon.

Wow, I can’t help but a feel a little bit like friend and fellow blogger, Chana, who can’t seem to restrain herself from writing incredibly lengthy posts, and who happened to record a slightly similar park experience just a few weeks ago. Hmm.

Other notes on life…

On the subway earlier this morning, a family (mom, dad, pre-pubescent son) sat down near me. The father was clad in a peach polo shirt and khaki shorts displaying hairy legs, and also sported a large gray mustache. These people were tourists. How do I know? When someone all the way across the subway car sneezed, I was abruptly awakened from my half-doze when the father said loudly, “Bless you!” My first thought was, “What? You just don’t do that. Who does that?” I mean, it was a little weird. The sneezer wasn’t even in our line of vision! But after that immediate reaction, I smiled to myself. Ah, how I love out-of-towners. And from now on, I resolve to bless subway sneezers!

And…graduations make me tear up—even if I’m not graduating, and even if I don’t know the people graduating. Something about seeing all the relatives there, beaming with pride, cameras in hand, makes me emotional. It’s nice, in a funny way. Though transitions from one stage to another are always interesting, achieving a goal is something to be proud of. It’s good to take some time simply to be glad before having to move on to whatever challenges lie ahead. So hooray for my grads, and mazal tov!

Now I should probably start studying for my final…

Poetry and Procrastination

My inclination for procrastination has been mentioned in this forum numerous times before. Tonight, in the midst of finals, in manifests itself in the urge to post on my semi-neglected blog. The problem, however, is that I haven’t decided on a topic about which to post. Hmm. I think I shall write a poem…

Finals time comes twice each year
And suddenly Stern girls appear
Laden with notebooks and textbooks and more
Dressed in sweatshirts and skirts to the floor
To sit in the library, the hallway, their rooms
And take a break from seeking out grooms
To read over notes and pore over tomes
With occasional shrieks, exclamations, and groans
But I find my strategy far more compelling
Even though my mind on tests should be dwelling
I instead surf the web, make lists of things to do
Feed cravings with sugar, and observe what ensues
Distract my roommates with accents and antics
Sing random songs till I’ve turned my friends frantic
When they get fed up, I make use of my phone
And good ol’ google chat means I’m never alone
But when I start to think about cleaning my room
I know that I’m desperate, so I put down the broom
I can put off no longer, the time is now here
The time that I’ve so long awaited with fear
With head hanging low I realize with sorrow
It’s two am, and my final is tomorrow
I sit myself down, prop eyes open with hooks
And finally think about hitting the books
But it never lasts long, cuz my head soon starts falling
I know that sound well: it’s my warm, soft bed calling
And when morning arrives I jolt out of sleep
To find I hit snooze seven times and heard nary a beep!
So now I’ve awoken an hour later than planned
I dress, daven, and dash, notes in my hand
I arrive out of breath, and plop down in my chair
Take out my pencil, pull back my hair
But before I begin, in my customary way,
I talk to myself, and this is what I say:
You shall now take this test, and though it shall be graded
Worry not, cuz you know A’s are way overrated!

Yom Haatzmaut: Take a Stand

For a comprehensive look at this topic see this article by Rabbi Alan Haber.

As everyone knows, there are many perspectives on how to treat Yom Haatzmaut. Will you go to a chagiga with live music? Will you be reciting Hallel? Will you have a seudah? Opinions on this topic tend to be impassioned, and with good reason: we are dealing with a very important issue.

I give full credence to the validity of more than one position on how to celebrate the day. However, there is one thing I do not understand. I do not understand those people who decide to “play it safe” and therefore end up doing nothing.

The question is as follows: is Israel a gift from Hashem to the Jewish people or not?

Satmar (for example) takes a clear stand on this issue: the State of Israel is an evil thing, and therefore it is appropriate to mourn on this day. Or if you are someone who thinks that the State has nothing to do with Hashem, then you very well may ignore the day completely, and that would be consistent.

If, however, you believe that Israel is a gift from Hakadosh Baruch Hu, then it is your obligation to do something to recognize this fact.

Perhaps you don’t feel comfortable going to a chagiga with live music during the omer? Fine, gather together some like-minded friends and have a kumzitz. Your rabbi paskens not to say hallel? So say some prakim of Tehillim. Listen to a shiur online. Eat a seudah. These are things that people can do without worrying about breaking the minhag of mourning during sefirah, without worrying about brachot levatalah.

I find that all too commonly people will say, “No, I’m not going to the program/chagiga tonight because of the tefillah chagigit and the live music,” and then instead, they simply do nothing. If you believe that Hashem gave us Israel, that there were nissim, that we are incredibly blessed to have our own state in Eretz Yisrael (despite its very imperfect government), then it is wrong not to thank Hashem, not to acknowledge His gifts, His blessings, His miracles.

Have a Yom Haatzmaut sameach, in whatever way you choose to celebrate!

Why I Don't Read Holocaust Books

I am spoiled.

I have lived a perfect life, a life entirely free from intense suffering. Sure, I have known people—young people, good people—who have suffered from terrible diseases, from impossible hardship. But these people have not been the people closest to me, so these tragedies have not touched me in the most personal way. My faith is strong—but who am I to talk, I whose faith has never been tested?

Don’t get me wrong, I am not asking for a test. I’m not asking for a tragedy, chas v’shalom. But I fear. I have lived a life without trial, yet I am imperfect. If, given every gift that Hashem can possibly offer, I still am unable to serve Him perfectly (in fact, far from it), where would I be if something terrible happened?

And that’s where the Holocaust books come in. My whole life, I never read any (with the exception of Elie Wiesel’s Night, which I had to read for school). My philosophy, right or wrong, has always been: why make yourself sad on purpose? Besides, I am extremely squeamish, and the details of Holocaust tales have always been too much for me to handle.

Now, a junior in college, one of my classes has required me to read a book called The Lost: A Search for Six of Six Million by Daniel Mendelsohn. The author tells his own tale, a man searching for the stories of six of his ancestors who were killed by the Nazis. He travels from the Ukraine, to Australia, to Israel, seeking out his history. His saga is interspersed with comparisons to stories in Sefer Bereishit, as elucidated by Rashi and a modern commentator named Friedman. The author himself is not Orthodox—he was brought up vaguely Reform, and although since then he has ‘discovered’ much of his heritage, the impression I have gotten is that he still takes a secular approach to the validity of the Torah. The book is long, 500 pages, and I am only halfway through. Though it is slow reading, I have, for the most part, enjoyed its intricate rambling and frequent keen insights.

But reading about some of the horrors of the Holocaust, and only just the horrors that occurred to the population of a tiny town called Bolechow, has also frightened me immensely. Reading the book for long periods of time, I feel sucked into a world I am afraid of. The way that Hashem allowed people, Jewish people, religious people, to be treated makes me forget, momentarily, that He is just. When I hear that the Rabbis suffered most—how a Rabbi, his eyes cut out, was forced to dance naked with a woman for the officers’ amusement, I wonder—how? Why?

Yes, I had heard about the evils of the Holocaust before. I had heard of the slaughter, but rarely in such vivid detail. Six million is not just a number. Six million are people, each with an individual story. When I hear the story of a single death I am sickened—multiply that horror by six million, and what happens? I cannot even fathom it.

And that, that is why I do not read Holocaust books. Because yes, it is important to be aware of our history. Yes, it is bad to close your eyes to reality. But I am not as strong as I should be. Hashem has not tested my faith, He has not put me in their shoes. Maybe, in a tough situation, I’d find my hidden strength. I’d like to think I would. But their tests are not mine, and reading about them will not make them mine—it will only confuse me.

As a close friend said, “I’d rather not shred myself up into little tiny pieces just to see if the pieces can come back together when I close the book.”

Chag HaAviv: A Time of New Beginnings

Pesach is upon us once again, and this year, I’m feeling even more joyous than usual. Everywhere I go these days, I am reminded that it’s spring: the blue skies, sunny weather, and the feeling of freshness that pervades the air. It is a time of new beginnings, a time when what seemed dead in the winter suddenly sprouts new life.

Right now, I am home for the weekend, before my family jet-sets to sunny LA for Pesach on Monday. Though it is not overly warm here, the sun shines, and outside my window our cherry tree is covered with small pink blossoms. On a personal note, I lately completed a project that had been occupying the majority of my time for a while, and am embarking on another new beginning even more exciting than the last.

Pesach also signifies a new beginning for the Jewish People. It marks our emergence as a nation, our departure from slavery into freedom—an entirely new start filled with endless possibility.

A close friend of mine always uses Pesach as an opportunity for reflection. Before Pesach she creates her own mini-Yom Kippur, a midyear checkpoint, and examines her progress over the year, noting areas that could use improvement. I think this is a fantastic idea, as anytime is a good time for introspection. But to me, a Pesach checkup feels different than an Elul one. During Elul, resolutions (for me anyway) are mainly marked by regret and sense of inadequacy. However, now it is springtime. The season itself inspires hope, and my self-reflection is infused with a feeling of endless possibility and optimism. It is a time of new beginnings, and no task is too great to achieve.

So this Pesach, I wish you all a chag kasher v'sameach, a chag in which we all embrace the season, leap at a new start, and remember that we each have the potential to reach our highest goals. Have a spectabulous Pesach, everyone!

The Value of Playing Devil's Advocate

This weekend was awesome. Having spent it with, among others, two illustrious Bloggers (and having discussed blogging-related issues far more often and at greater length than I ever have before), I felt it would be just plain wrong to neglect mention of it in this forum. As always, SerandEz were perfect hosts--the food was amazing, the company stimulating, and the baby absolutely adorable.

In addition to blog-related topics of conversation, we had quite a few other deep and fascinating (and lengthy) discussions. One of these related to whether it is necessary to acknowledge the validity of approaches that conflict with our own, and whether by doing so one is crushing youthful idealism.

I shall not even attempt to recap the majority of the conversation, but for me, the bottom line was that it is absolutely imperative to try to understand the point of view of those with whom we disagree, for two main reasons. One is that, though idealism is wonderful, it is impractical to refuse to see how the world functions (even if you disagree with the methods by which it does). Idealists are the only ones who will ever be able to affect change, and if they stay in lala land and never open their eyes to the real world and to points of view that differ from their own, how are they going to do anything? If you simply say “the other side is garbage” and dismiss it, no one will listen to anything you have to say. You need to understand the other side in order to argue against it.

Furthermore…and I think even more importantly...it is crucial to understand that there is another perspective. That even though you may disagree with that perspective, it is an approach. It is valid. People who hold that approach are valid, and it is not right to harbor dislike and animosity towards them. We have to understand them in order to love them, to promote ahavas Yisroel. For me, this is the bottom line. Love your fellow Jew. The End.

IMHO, Busses Should Be Non-Smoking

First of all, I just thought I ought to inform anyone still loyal enough to be checking this poor, seemingly abandoned blog that it is, in fact, not dead…the only hitch is that I have been doing so much living myself that I have necessarily sucked some of the life out of my blog. In other words, I’ve been super duper crazy busy. And you know what? I will continue to be this busy until March 20th. So if this blog is sporadic between now and then, I apologize. Also, I’ve stopped reading most of the blogs I like. I’m sorry. I still love you guys—I just simply don’t have time! Heck, I don’t even have time for my roommates! And, I know, I know, Chana will say “Well, make time!” And I will answer her, as I did this evening, saying “There are only 24 hours in the day. If I knew how to make more, I would!” Honestly, I don’t have the opportunity to procrastinate anymore—every moment is eaten up by some activity, and even my homework often gets utterly left by the wayside. (Case in point: I wrote an essay at 4:30 am on a red-eye flight into NY—having read only 15 of the 70 pages of required reading. Yeeeeah.)

But, despite all this, I couldn’t resist a brief reunion with my blog. I shall now recount an interesting experience from my very exciting and eventful weekend. My high school flew me home to be an advisor on their shabbaton, and placed me as the only authority figure in a bunk with nine 8th graders. Many fascinating, illuminating, and amusing events occurred over those two days, but I shall only tell you about one right now.

Once upon a time…
I was the only advisor on my bus to the campsite where the shabbaton was to take place. Picture this: I am sitting in the front of the bus. Smack in the middle of the 1.5 hour bus ride, I hear shrieks from behind me. I turn around, and see chaos erupting in the back of the bus. A Junior girl runs up the aisle to me and exclaims, panicked: “The back of the bus is filling up with smoke!” I look, and observe this to be true. And the smoke smells like burning rubber. Uh-oh. Not good.

Everyone in the back of the bus has gotten up, and most of them are panicking. The remainder are slightly amused. Two girls decide to alert the bus driver to the situation. They tell him rapidly and in high pitched voices about the disconcerting situation. His very apt and intelligent response is:
“Huh?”
An elderly gentleman, it appears he is somewhat deaf. Eventually, he is so besieged by panicking students that he declares, exasperated,
“I’m pulling over!”
He does so, and gets up to see what the matter is. Observing the copious smoke, he gets out of the bus and examines it from the outside. He returns, and informs us,
“We’re overheating like crazy! We’re going to have to switch to a new bus.”
At which point he returns to his seat and resumes driving.

The students, meanwhile, involve themselves in wondering why we are now careening merrily down the freeway as the smoke continues to billow forth, call their parents and inform them that our bus is on fire, and speculate as to whether the bus will explode. I decide that someone should tell a real authority figure about the situation. So I call one of the Rabbis in charge. I tell him:
“The back of our bus is filling up with smoke, and we will probably have to switch busses.”
The sympathetic and useful response from this esteemed educator? “Hahahahahahahahahahaha!”
Right. Eventually, we pull over once again. On an on-ramp. To the freeway. (No, don’t ask me why we stopped there. I have no idea.) Soon we see another bus on the horizon, wending its jolly way toward our still smoking vehicle. It pulls in front of our bus and stops. The kids eagerly get up and fill the aisle, awaiting their exit from our bus (whose air is now as clouded as that of an unsavory bowling alley). Our driver bellows at everyone to sit down, as we must wait patiently as the two drivers transfer all our luggage from the old bus to the new one. We sit.

Eventually, we are told that the kids may leave the bus, slowly, and in single file, since we are, after all, sitting on an on-ramp as cars whiz past. I, however, am asked to remain behind, to assure that everyone gets off safely, and that all the luggage is transferred. The bus empties, and I stand in front of the open bus door, staying as close as possible to the bus in order to avoid being hit by a speeding semi-truck. Another five minutes pass as the driver moves duffels and sleeping bags to the new bus. I stand outside alone, waiting, and every few seconds peeking anxiously into the bottom of the bus to see how much luggage remains to be moved. Finally, he is done. I verify that everything has been transferred, thank the kindly driver of the rescue bus, and board the new bus, where, thank G-d, my kids are handling everything just fine. (Luckily, most of the kids on my bus were older, and not as rambunctious—if I had had freshman boys, I do not know what I would have done.) The driver starts the bus, and the rest of our ride is blissfully uneventful. The same, however, could not be said of the rest of the shabbaton (cue ominous music)…

London Visit Boiled Down (to the tune of "London Bridge")

I've been back in school for a week now, and busy out of my mind. But it simply wouldn't be fair to ignore my trip to the other side of the pond, so for anyone who cares to see, here is a summary of my experience.

People/Places/Things I saw in London (by category):

Touristy:

• Tower of London (where lots of people were tortured and died, before which they carved some pretty depressing ancient graffiti on the walls)
• The Crown Jewels (talk about shiny…makes Stern girls’ engagement rings look paltry and cheap--and that’s saying something)
• Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace (during which, to my bafflement, the Royal Band, bearskin hats and all, played a medley of Gershwin—a good American composer)
• Covent Garden (upscale shopping area, where we also saw a pretty good string quartet playing famous classical pieces in an open square…while very adeptly guilt-tripping observers into giving money)
• Leicester Square (lots of theatres, yet nothing like Broadway)
• Trafalgar Square (which contains a lot of famous stuff, like huge stone lions and Nelson’s Column, about which my ever-useful friend knew absolutely no history—but at least I can say I’ve seen it, even if I don’t know why it’s important)
• The National Gallery (from the outside only)
• Camden Town (a little like Greenwich Village, English style)
• The Tate Modern Museum (which was hosting a really cool exhibit that consisted of huge twisty metal tube slides that came down from each of the 5 floors, and which visitors could ride for free! We went down the one from the fourth floor, and it was well worth the visit.)
• Waterloo Bridge (great view of the city)
• UCL (University College London—not really a tourist site, but I was there nevertheless, and even attended a statistics lab without being asked whether I was actually a student there or not)
• The Tube (aka the underground—Mind the Gap!)

Jewish:

• 2 high schools
• 2 shuls
• R’ Tatz
• R’ Sheinberg
• One women’s learning program (organized by my friend)
• Extensive tours of Hendon and Golders Green

Just Plain Fun:

• Wicked (with British accents, for half the price of tickets in NY—what could possibly have been better????)
• Kasamba (‘nuff said)
• My friends’ families (English people are lovely!)
• A clip of an Iraqi TV talk show with subtitles (I wish I knew the link…but take my word for it, it was one of the funniest things I have ever seen in my entire life)

Things to know before going to England:

• They drive on the other side of the road! (I knew this, but it wasn’t on my mind when I got there…so the taxi driver looked perplexed when I tried to get in on the wrong side, and I narrowly avoided getting hit by cars several times after not knowing which direction to look when crossing the street).
• When they speak about “green men” they are not referring to extraterrestrials, but to the lights at crosswalks. (That took me a while.)
• There are no hechshers on food there…so if you anticipate getting hungry, you better pick up a Kosher Food Guide first…or carry an English friend around with you wherever you go. Also, learn some terminology or you could be very confused (crisps, biscuits, etc.).
• Things are more expensive there. Period. In order to avoid extreme frustration, pretend the pounds are dollars.

And there you have it, folks: SJ's guide to London! Now in (sort of) the same vein, it's time for me to head back to good ol' Survey of English Lit reading...fun fun!

A Weekend in Baby Heaven

This weekend, my aunt and uncle and two little girl cousins who live two states away came to visit us for the first time since my brother’s Bar Mitzvah 1.5 years ago. I had the most loveliest time playing with my 4 and a half year old and 2 year old cousins. I wish I could record all the cute things they said and did, but there were far too many to count. This afternoon, a family friend and her kids came over to play as well…she has a boy who is 6, a girl who is nearly 4, and a 14 month old drop-dead gorgeous baby (and twins on the way!). With all the kids around, I felt like I had died and gone to baby heaven! Mmmm, delicious! I was so tempted to hide one in my suitcase and take it to London with me, but I thought they might stop me at customs for baby smuggling.

Before my family left for the airport just a few minutes ago, my 4.5 year old cousin came over to me and announced with a grave face that she’d miss me a lot. She then asked her Daddy for her phone number, which she recited to me, telling me to call her whenever I miss her.

Why is she so delicious?? I want one!!

Anyway, all the company just left for the airport or their house, respectively, and now my house is quiet once more...and I have to start packing for London! Since I shall be away until next Sunday night, it is likely that you won't hear from me over the coming week...so I hope you have a wonderful week--I know I shall! Toodles!

Tata and Cheerio!

Hello old Chaps! This fine, damp evening I am in high spirits, as I shall soon be departing to a far off location to whence I have never before hearkened! Can anyone guess where? And no, I don’t really think they speak like this there! That’s right, Poppets, I’m off to Jolly Old England! And I am quite excited about it too! (In case the overabundance of exclamation points didn’t tip you off already!)

What brings me to visit our stuffy old cousins over there, you ask? Well, first off, I will take great offense to your slanderous appellation—who says English people are stuffy? They have rollicking good fun over there! (I love Brits!) And then I will answer your question—I am going purely for pleasure, which, after all, is the only reason to go anywhere (how Oscar Wilde-ish of me). I have always wanted to pay it a visit, and now life (and my parents) have finally afforded me the opportunity to do so! Not to mention that two of my very favourite people in the world happen to hail from the neighborhood (and that’s not even including Kasamba, one of my very favourite bloggers out there, who, incidentally, is not originally from England anyway!). I shall be imposing upon the hospitality of these two wonderful lovely incredible young ladies, who I was privileged to meet during my (not so) long ago days in sem in the Holy Land, and shall be forcing them not only to endure my company, but to show me around their fair city! I can’t wait!

Of course, the thing that excites me most is the prospect of being entirely surrounded by people with fantastic accents! In fact, I plan to come back with one myself (a fantastic accent, not a person). After all, I’ve always considered myself English at heart…my English friends tell me that I certainly don’t sound like most of the other vulgar Americans with their horrid accents, and I am a fan of Oscar Wilde and P.G. Wodehouse, and I’m quite accustomed to gray, drizzly weather (though I wouldn’t eat Marmite if you paid me, and I don’t drink tea…but disregard those piddling facts for now).

So, you ask yourself, when is this girl going to stop blabbing and leave already? Ha! Well, I’m afraid you are not so lucky, my friend…I’m not leaving till Sunday night! All this is just preparation! Because I am psyched! And what else is a blog for but to vent one’s thoughts and feelings, hmmm?? So, with that deep philosophic question to ponder, I will bid you farewell for now, for I have visiting relatives shortly to descend upon the house. However, worry not, for I shall return!

A Red-Hot Topic

The color red has been much under discussion recently. Yediot Achronot reports that the latest in the charedi war for tznius includes not only a ban of any red garments, but a call for women to purchase clothing only from a list of 30 approved stores. In reaction, Hot Chanie defends RaggedyMom’s red hair, and RaggedyMom discusses being a redhead. Never having been one myself, I can’t weigh in on the topic (though I’ve been an admirer of red hair ever since I read Anne of Green Gables in 3^rd grade), but I will give my own take on the controversial issue of whether a frum girl should even think of wearing red.

I am personally a huge fan of bright colors, and usually wear nothing else (orange being my personal favorite). However, there are situations where I will think twice before donning an eye-catching sartorial hue. While I don’t believe that wearing red is inherently abhorrent and untznius, if the color of your clothing will cause others to look at you askance, you do run into a tznius dilemma. The bottom line is that if your clothes draw undue attention to your appearance, then they are not tzenua. For the most part, in today’s world, wearing red or any other bright color will not call more attention to oneself than wearing black or blue. However, to a certain extent, I believe that tznius can be relative. What I would wear to class is different than what I would wear on a visit to Meah Shearim (that’s an extreme example, but even in less extreme cases I would think twice). There are places where wearing red will make people stare, and if people stare, that is not tzenua. So while I don’t believe that wearing red is the equivalent of wearing a tight-fitting tank top (which indisputably calls attention to your body, no matter where you are), I do believe in following the minhag hamakom and not causing yourself to stand out. And if the minhag hamakom is too difficult to keep—then perhaps that makom is not the place for you.

The Sunny Side of a Rainy Day

With finals finally behind me, I am home once again, and, as usual, a little bored. Today it is rainy and stormy and pouring and gray...which doesn't really help improve the state of one's spirits. But as I sat here bemoaning the uncooperative weather, I remembered something I wrote for an assignment back in ninth grade, so long ago. I went back to my files and looked it up, and since it cheered me up, I figured I would share it with you, in hopes that it might also help anyone else experiencing the rainy day blues.

So here it is, my descriptive paragraph of days of yore:

There is nothing that gives me more of a sense of comfort than a rainy day. The rhythmic patter of the rain on the roof has a hypnotic quality. Sitting in front of a blazing fire, I feel its warmth as the flames make patterns on the wall. They are shadows, leaping up and down in a harmonious, never-ending dance. I hold a steaming cup of hot chocolate in my hands, and as I sip it, my tongue is filled with the taste of its warm, rich, sweetness. I swallow, and it soothes and calms me. I sit curled up on the sofa, and pick up a good book. I eagerly turn the pages, and as I lose myself in tales of strange lands and people I will never meet, I know that I am free from harm, safe and secure, warm in my house. Outside, the rain gets harder and beats mercilessly against the windowpanes. But it does not affect me because I am sheltered, protected, comfortable. The sound of the rain does not wane, and soon I can no longer keep my eyes open. As I fall asleep, a deep sense of satisfaction and happiness envelops me. Home is bliss, on a cold, rainy winter’s day.

Enjoy the rainy day, everyone!

My Tefillah

Hashem, please give me strength. I know You have a plan for me; please reveal it to me in the right time--and in the meantime, help me understand that there is a reason for whatever I endure. Help me to truly believe that everything is for the good. Help me to feel Your presence in my life every day, to feel Your hand guiding me and supporting me. Help me to grow from my hardships, to pass the tests You give me, to use them to become closer to You. Help me to be thankful every day for the thousands and thousands of blessings you shower upon me at every moment. Help me to learn from past mistakes, and to grow from them. Help me to treat people the way that they deserve to be treated, to be sensitive to their needs, and never to wound another with my words or actions. Help me spread Your Torah and mitzvot to those of Your people who are unaware of their glory. May my tefilot always be sincere, and may they reach Your heavenly throne. I love You, for you are my Father; I revere You, for you are my King; to You I owe my life and all that is good.

May the words of my mouth and the desires of my heart find favor before you, Hashem, my Rock and my Redeemer.

Procrastinators of the World, Unite! ...Tomorrow

Reading week is over, and finals have officially begun. My reading week was…well, the way mine typically are: rather unproductive. I can’t say I really did any schoolwork at all to speak of. You’re shocked? Well, you shouldn’t be. You see, I have a problem—and I’m finally ready to admit it:

I am a procrastinator. [hides face in shame]

Like, a really really BIG procrastinator. I am one of those people who is completely unable to study until the night before a test—at which time, I have been known to lose my cool, panic, stress out for hours, realize it’s too late to study, go to sleep, and then wake up early in the morning, an hour or two before the test, to try to cram the material into my poor mushed-up brain. This has been my system ever since high school—and the scary part is, it’s worked for me. But I can’t say it’s any fun. The problem is, though, since I never seem to have any awful repercussions for my irresponsibility, my negative habits are reinforced, and I don’t change my ways. This is bad.

So this year, I determined I would be different. At the very least, I’d cut out the stressing part, which serves no purpose and is rather horrible. To my own shock and wonder, I actually did it! This past semester I was actually able to minimize the amount of time I spent stressing out over my work! The solution, I think, was that I filled up my schedule with so many extracurricular activities that I simply didn’t have any extra time in which to stress. The little unscheduled time I had needed to be used to get the schoolwork done, so there was no room for the stressing time I was accustomed to.

However, the system broke down when it came to reading week. My extracurriculars were over for the semester, and there was no class. This left me with oodles and oodles of free time. I didn’t know what to do with myself—so I just didn’t do anything! I only had one paper to write (still unfinished), but since it’s not a research paper, I didn’t stress about it—or spend any time on it either. Instead, I hung out with my roomies (who I had barely seen of late due to my ridiculously busy schedule), reread a book for pleasure for the first time in forever (Pride and Prejudice is sooo good…if you are a girl, go read it! Or if you are a guy who actually appreciates great literature, read it too! :-), blogsurfed, and thought about beginning to study for my finals, but never actually did.

Now, finals have begun, and I am wholly unprepared. My first one was statistics, this morning, and I naively figured that since the final is open notes and the midterm was easy, I wouldn’t have to spend more than half an hour preparing. So I left it till yesterday afternoon. When I finally opened up my notes, I was shocked to see that I couldn’t make heads or tails of anything! My initial reaction was panic, but eventually I solicited the assistance of a friend and after studying for an hour or two eventually felt mildly prepared. Then, after lighting Chanukah candles, I went out and refused to think about the final any more—until 8:40 this morning when I arrived in the classroom to take it. The final is now over, and, fortunately or unfortunately, this system also seems to have worked out ok. Again, my irresponsibility is rewarded. Hoorah!

However, the finals coming up this week promise to be much more difficult, so I’m really going to have to study at some point…I wonder when I’m going to do that? Hmmm…

This procrastination thing is really getting out of hand…help!

Happy Chanukah! (Hannukah? Hanuka? Channuka? Hannoocuh?)

With things over here being so hectic, busy, chaotic, and all-around crazy, I still have not yet come up with my next brilliant blogging topic. But since I seem to be currently experiencing a blogging urge, I'm going to just start writing and see what comes out. I apologize in advance.

I went to my friend's house in Philly this shabbos and twas a lot of fun. I got 12 hours of sleep. That was fun. Plus, at lunch I poured a jug of water on myself. That was less fun, more wet. (No, it wasn't on purpose. I was pouring and the lid just fell off! And those who have comments about how klutzy I am may just keep them to themselves, thank you!)

The Donut Saga: Another friend who came for shabbos was taking a nap on Friday afternoon (she was getting a head start on sleep) and woke up before shabbos and told me that she had a dream that our hostess was offering us donuts (the kind with colored sprinkles on top!) and that I refused, saying "Dai, maspik (stop, enough)!" I asked her why I would say a silly thing like that. She didn't know. From the moment she told me about that dream, I began craving donuts. And there were no donuts in the house where I was staying. Which was sad. Then when we finally got back to NY (after missing several trains due to a very exciting adventure trying to find a chanukiah for a slightly irresponsible and adventure-prone friend), I begged my friends to keep their eyes open for the alleged kosher Krispy Kreme at Penn Station. Then (cue euphoric music)...we saw it! And just at that moment, the gate thing rolllled down, signifying that it was closed! Noooooo!!! So I was sad. So we walked back to school, and got together our chanukiot (both normal and makeshift) and oil and wicks and said brachot and lit and waited (fruitlessly) for boys to leave the lobby so that we could sing. And then various bunches of friends came in and we greeted them...and then some more friends came in and announced that they were going to get pizza, so I begged them to bring me back a donut, and they said they would see, and they left...and then a few minutes later, in came more friends--bearing homemade donuts that they made! And even though they looked more like little brown latkes than donuts, they were sufficiently oily and sufficiently sweet to satisfy my craving! And I ate four! (stop staring and shut your mouth--they were really small!) And then I went up to my room and shortly thereafter there was a rapping at my chamber door...and there stood friend-who-went-to-pizza-store, brown bag in hand, brown donut in brown bag! I thanked her profusely because it was sooo nice of her to get it for me...but I'm afraid that the donut is just going to have to wait patiently until breakfast tomorrow. I don't think I can handle any more oil right now.

Oh! Other really creepy story...we were walking back to school from Penn Station, and on the street was a card table, behind which an unshaven man wearing a santa hat was sitting, calling out loudly, "Help the homeless!" in a deep, raspy voice. As we passed, he suddenly said, without even changing his tone or skipping a beat, "Give tzedaka! It's a mitzvah! It will bring you bracha and hatzlacha! A freilachen Chanukah!" As we turned our heads and looked at him in astonishment, he rasped, "That's right girls, don't mind the hat," pointing at his Christmas chapeau. We were in a rush (and also a shtick weirded out) so we didn't stop to chat...but the experience was quite an interesting one. Anyone have any theories as to how the guy would have known those phrases (and whether we should have stopped and given him tzedaka?).

Ok, now it is quite late at night and I must go to sleep--I have a full day of procrastinating to do tomorrow! Happy Chanukah to all, and to all a good night!

A Must Read

This post over on Chana's blog is an absolute must-read. In it, she articulates (far better than I could) exactly why I am such a firm believer in "hard-core" learning (in depth learning from sources)--as opposed to what is commonly referred to as "fluff". Having actually attended a school where they take the opposite approach, she is far more qualified than I am to discuss the issue...though perhaps someday if I ever have free time (haha) I'll have a chance to write about it as well. Meanwhile, though her post is characteristically lengthy, it is well worth taking the time to read--and the comments are fascinating too.

20

A brief post to mark a momentous occasion...I'm 20 years old today. I have left my teenage years behind, and now enter an era of adulthood. And I am petrified. Yes, I have been oft reminded that it is just a number and doesn't really mean anything, yet somehow it does signify a change in status and an increase in responsibility that I feel unprepared to accept. I mean, come on, I'm still just a kid!

So, in order to try to cope with this milestone succcessfully, I now open it up to anyone who reads this blog to give me any advice you have for dealing with life as an adult. I could use all the help I can get!

A Girl Walks Into a Bar...

Yes, I know that just yesterday I promised a blogging hiatus. But I had an experience tonight that was both out of the ordinary and frustrating—an irresistible combination for a blogger. So, since I felt like writing about it anyway, I figured I might as well post it here. I hope you forgive me for yesterday’s misleading post. I guess I will now add a disclaimer to the disclaimer: I am on a break from blogging—unless something so blogworthy happens that I am necessarily compelled to violate my self-imposed exile.

Ok, so now on to the story…

Tonight I went to a bar for the first time in my life. Before you start ranting about the moral deterioration of today’s youth, I’ll relieve your concern by telling you that, no, I was not there to drink myself silly or to meet guys. In fact, I was quite resistant to the idea of going, as I had never planned to enter a bar, at all, ever. The reason I was there was because my creative writing teacher told us at the beginning of the semester that we had to attend a reading of fiction and write an essay on it at some point over the course of the semester. Of course, being good college students, my entire class left it till the very last second, and now the essay is due on Monday. So we all scrambled to find a fiction reading that was free and not too far away. And we did. There was to be a reading at an Irish pub right near my school tonight at eight. So a few friends from class and I decided to go. Beforehand, we did some research about the bar where it was to take place, since none of us are 21 yet and we wondered whether we would have trouble getting in. After looking it up, we hopefully determined that because it holds weekly fiction readings (as well as Irish language lessons), it was really not a bar, but rather a dimly lit cultural center that also happens to serve alcohol.

We got there tonight just on time, at 2 minutes to 8. The pub was small and narrow with a low ceiling—and the only part of my assumption that turned out to be correct was that it was indeed dimly lit. The only other people there were two college girls from another school who also needed to hear a reading for a class. My friends and I situated ourselves on a leather couchish thing against the wall near the small platform where a shtender with a microphone waited expectantly for the absent author to appear. We had ample time to observe our surroundings and comment on the novelty of actually being in a real live bar, because the author was late. It was fun for a few minutes, but then it got later--and the author still didn’t come. We started getting worried, and we asked the bartender (a normal-looking 30ish lady with a thick Irish brogue) whether the author was coming. She said that she didn’t know, because she “just provides the rrumm” (room or rum?) so we sat back down and chatted amongst ourselves. After we had waited about 40 minutes a few girls left, but two of my friends and I still waited hopefully—because we really needed to hear the reading tonight in order to write the essay in a timely fashion. At 9:01, over an hour after the reading was scheduled to begin, we finally gave up hope and left. The End. Great story, no?

Overall, it was an extremely frustrating experience, because not only did I go to a bar for nothing, and not only did I waste over an hour of my incredibly busy life, but I still have to take even more time to find another reading to go at some other point! Now it looks like I have to go to yet another bar tomorrow night to try again (two bars in two nights—I don’t know what has become of me!). To try to look on the bright side, I guess it can count as an interesting experience. Maybe I’ll even get a short story out of it someday. My creative writing teacher would be pleased.

Disclaimer in Advance

I would like to apologize in advance for the blogging hiatus which I am obliged to take. Basically, my life right now is full to the brim with schoolwork and extracurriculars. Since I have barely a second to spare for breathing, eating, and sleeping, the blog is going to have to take a backseat until I have made it past this next two weeks or so.

In other news, I just got back to NY on Monday morning after a brief trip home for Thanksgiving, which was awesome. My family had a huge Thanksgiving dinner with 20 people and a TON of food. My family is quite patriotic, and very into Thanksgiving--as well as willfully ignorant of the potential halachic issues of taking it too far (and when I say too far, I mean too far...just trust me on this). Despite that minor issue, it was fun, and really really nice to be home again.

Anyway, I have now spent more time than I can currently afford on blogging, so I must get back to the pressing obligations of my ever-hectic life (which, btw, I love, no matter how much I complain or how stressed it may sometimes make me...and I am incredibly thankful for everything in it...shoutout to G-d!). I will rejoin the world of active bloggers in due time, iy"H. Till then, hope you all have a lovely couple of weeks!

NCSY: Why it's Awesome

This weekend I attended a Regional NCSY Convention. It was the third shabbaton I’ve attended with this region, and like the two shabbatonim before it, it was an amazing experience.

As an advisor, I was there to hang out with the kids, and that’s what I did. I reconnected with kids I had met on the previous shabbatonim, and met new kids as well. I find NCSY incredibly inspiring because it brings together Jewish teens from all different backgrounds with advisors who are excited and committed to Yahadus (not to mention a little nuts, for the most part) as well as staff and administration who are so dedicated that it’s almost hard to fathom.

I personally believe that being involved in organizations like NCSY is one of the most important things that a young Jewish adult can do. Reaching out to high-schoolers to show them that being Jewish can be fun, cool, and inspirational is absolutely crucial to the survival of the Jewish people. The intermarriage rate today is devastating, and far too many kids have no idea what Judaism means.

Over the weekend, I became close with two girls from a public school located in a community with no religious Jewish life at all. These girls had attended the “Hebrew Culture Club” run by NCSY in their school, and had been persuaded by the head (the Director of Outreach for the region) to come to regional. They knew absolutely nothing about Judaism, and definitely didn’t know what they were getting into when they signed up to come for the weekend. (The head of outreach later told me that during a discussion of intermarriage in the club one week, both of the girls had said that they’d marry non-Jews without hesitation.) I hung out with these girls practically the entire time, and it was really fun. They were supernice girls, and unlike many of the day school kids, actually listened when I asked them to do something or go somewhere. Yet, these really sweet girls didn’t know what shabbos was, couldn’t figure out why we were constantly praying out of backward books, and were fazed by the idea of wearing a skirt for all of Saturday. I didn’t push any information on them, but instead tried to make sure that they had a good time. I really think that the most important part of being an advisor is just making a connection with the kids, really being a friend and showing them that you care—and the rest will follow naturally.

On the shabbaton I also had the opportunity to meet/re-meet many many kids whose lives have been changed by NCSY—kids who have started keeping kosher, who are dying to keep shabbos in a non-shomer-shabbos home, who want nothing more than for their parents to allow them to go to day school, or to Israel after high school. Seeing people (high school kids, no less!) who sacrifice and struggle so much to be better Jews never fails to inspire me. Too often I take my life for granted—the fact that it is so easy for me to keep shabbos and kosher, the fact that I have opportunities to learn Torah everywhere I turn, the fact that I am surrounded by so many wonderful examples of Torah Judaism. Seeing kids who have to fight for every inch, for every mitzvah, reminds me that I am incredibly lucky. As much as one may think that the advisors are on the shabbaton to give to the kids, I find that the kids are often the ones who end up giving to the advisors (as cliché as it may sound, it’s true!).

Overall, it was a wonderful (and completely exhausting) experience, and I can’t wait for Winter Regional!